“It’s an untamed technique,” he promised myself and the rest of the crew. I didn’t care, but I was very happy to have so much infrared spectrum shining on me. I went from cold hands to an almost-headache in a matter of five minutes once he had all the lights set up. But then, naturally, “all” seemed to be an incredibly relative term. Naturally, as a famous shooter, he had other photographer friends with lights of their own.

The blade was an ancient relic, imbued with the strength of a distant, mountainous land. Kings had fought there in the dawn of the world and this blade belonged to the last to sit on their storied throne. Long searching had lead me to it, forgotten in its sheath in an attic above a coffeehouse by the harbor. It fit my hand perfectly.

A strange tearing sound to my left shook me from my aimless daydreaming. I looked at the wing and saw there was a tear in it. The hawk had dive-bombed right through the fabric!

Then another round of gunfire. They must have found Sánchez. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. The gunfire stopped for a moment, then picked up again. I inched forward, trying to stay invisible. Then I saw Moses. He had three gunman with him. I sunk back down. There was no way.

The cold, bubbly, sharp and yet somehow smooth-tasting liquid splashed into my mouth. Images of parties and polar bears sprang to mind. What a beautiful way to experience this park. I cracked open a second can. My thirst thoroughly quenched, it was time to find a good spot for a picture.

I reached out and grabbed ahold of the frame. The metal was hot to the touch. It was unusual for such a small pod to be so warm. I got closer to a viewport and realized why: I was entering atmosphere. I looked back towards the rest of the space station should have been. There was nothing there; where there should have been half a mile of scientific test pods, solar arrays, storage units and backup support systems, all I could see was dark space with a rotating blur of stars.

The right tackle would always make the difference between landing fish all morning and going home empty-handed. Line thickness, weights, lures, rod, reel; everything played its part. Today hadn’t changed much from yesterday, but I had a feeling that the fish would be closer to the bank, so I changed the weight out accordingly. My hands were a little stiff and cold, but the sun was on its way up. I would be warm soon enough.

The music was the same as always, but it felt different experiencing it so vicariously. They clearly knew the songs, the way they jumped and cavorted on the beat, but having each other and those plastic, air-filled tools in their hands made the song live larger.

Everything smelled like gasoline fumes and sea spray. It must have been the motor. I stood, sun-dazed, groggy from my afternoon nap, and confused about where everyone was and what could have happened. My phone rang, and I jogged back toward the front of the boat. I picked it up.

Then, with a sudden dodge, I sprinted full-speed past a defender. I looked up, and Carlos had sent me a beautiful pass sailing through the air over everyone’s heads. I lined up and struck the ball before it even hit the ground. It whipped through the air, right past the goalkeeper’s hands and into the back of the net.

Hours later, I was hot, sweaty, pumping with adrenaline, and flying through the never-ending dunes. Sand blasted all around me as I crested yet another enormous rise. I gunned the engine just before the top, sending me sailing. In the long seconds while I floated above the earth, I saw that the dunes tapered off fairly soon. The sea glittered off to my right, and rocky plains stretched out ahead.

The path bent up away from the village and into the forest before it reached my house. I hadn’t made it to the edge of the woods yet when I felt the first drop of rain. It splashed right on my hand, bigger than usual and cold as ice. It was too far to run all the way home, but I dashed ahead to at least get under the cover of the trees.

They used to grow. I would walk the hills and where there had been no stones, stones would be. I have not traveled as far. I walk less now. But when I get to these hills I remember them before the stones arose. They were bare and clean, clothed with only the swaying, dancing grass.

I loved feeling the water get cooler as I neared the bottom. The rock sent me down quickly. A little too quickly. My chest felt tighter than usual, and I hadn’t finished my count before my feet hit the sand. I waited before I moved so that my body could adjust to the depth. After I had rested for a few moments, I started searching.

We were getting close to the end now. The reactions to the game upstairs were growing louder, but I was so focused that somehow it all seemed further and further away. I knew that if I let my attention slip I could be in the hole for months to come.

For one, we were all the same dusty hue. The hue itself was not particularly unique to dust, but it was the dust that had imparted the hue to me; hence, dusty hue. I would have described it as light brown in situations of less importance.

I have seen enough chipmunk and squirrel gnawings to know when a small animal gets ahold of some fruit. They eat greedily, but they’re not large enough to finish the whole thing, so they leave clear signs of their work. Birds peck holes into the fruit. It’s a waste, but it makes sense. Larger animals eat the entire apple in one go, so all you usually see is a few broken stems. Whatever was at the trees now was cracking branches down and picking them bare. It was big, and it was hungry.

I rushed a plate of ham and cheese out to table seven. Seven was the coziest spot, tucked into the corner furthest from the door and out of sight from most of the other tables. The couple sitting there looked like they too were from out of town. I had tried to make conversation, but they only grunted and smiled and pointed at specific lines on the menu. I couldn’t help but think that they didn’t know how to read it. You had to admit that Ham and cheese was a funny option this time of year.

My room smelled like stim packs and spent hydrogen cells. The laser bike was in one corner, and my node was in the other. The bed took up the rest of the room. Wires and cables snaked from the node to the window, attaching to some slim and discrete antennae arrays that lined the inside of the window frame. From the outside, I looked like a junkie slob. From the inside, I still looked like a junkie slob, but a much more connected one.

I fell headfirst. The water hit me, not the other way around. I felt the shock of the temperature course through my limbs. The stream started from far up in the mountains; melting snow was making its journey back down to the lakes and ponds. It was near freezing.